


Any Way You Can

by twohandsdown (rashaka)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dubious Consent, F/M, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Season/Series 03, Somnophilia, fluffy non-con sort of?, look this is the nature of the prompt it's kind of a 'Sleeping Beauty + cunnilingus' deal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 00:39:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10478160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rashaka/pseuds/twohandsdown
Summary: For the 100 kink meme, prompted: "Clarke didn't immediately wake up after going into the CoL, she goes into some kind of coma. While everyone is trying to find a way to get down from the tower, Bellamy stands guard by her. They're alone, he's worried, he just can't help himself. Maybe if he kisses her just right she'll come back to him... MUST HAVE: Bellamy going down on her, making her come as many times as the author wants as she gradually wakes up."





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is kind of slap-dash and porny, since it was written for the [100 Kink Meme](http://100kinkmeme.livejournal.com/1753.html), and has definitely not been beta-read. Written for the lulz. ;)
> 
> Warning: Oral sex on someone to wake them up is the prompt, but since it's in canonverse they definitely can't talk about it first. So it's non-con of a sort, and if that makes you uncomfortable then feel free to skip.

Abby is getting her equipment ready near Ontari’s body, showing Murphy how to compress the dying girl's heart, when Clarke turns to Bellamy and whispers fiercely, “If I end this but I don't come back, I want you to wake me any way you can.”  
  
He shoots a concerned glance at Abby but leans in toward the throne, head down. “What are you saying?”  
  
Clarke makes a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. “I talked to Raven about the city of light before we left, and she told me how alluring it is. She said that if she shuts down the program, not everyone might be able to wake up on their own. They might need something to jolt them out if the program. So if I do this, and I destroy ALIE, you need to make sure I wake up. Don't let me waste away in some made up world.”  
  
“How?  
  
“Any way you can,” she tells him. “ _Any_ way.”  
  
The look Bellamy gives her in return is half heartbreak, half determination. “I will.”  
  
Clarke nods and sits back on the throne. When Abby approaches with the Flame, Clarke stretches out her hand and twines her fingers into Bellamy’s familiar grip. He holds her, safe and grounded, as her mom says the pass phrase.

  
  
*

  
  
When Clarke stopped the ALIE program everything was supposed to be okay again--and almost everyone was. Kane and Jackson and even Murphy's girlfriend all came back to themselves. Everyone was safe it seemed... except for Clarke.  
  
“We need to try something else,” demanded Bellamy, looming over Clarke's form that was currently stretched out on one of the richly appointed ambassador beds. Abby stood in front of him, wringing her hands, and he felt like an ass to be saying these things to a woman on the brink of losing her child.  
  
“We can't give her any more drugs until she's had time to rest,” the heartbroken doctor warned him. “There's a chance she'll wake up on her own. Everyone else has, maybe we need to give her the time.”  
  
“Everyone else just had the chip, not the Commander's flame,” Bellamy snapped. Kane stepped forward, one hand landing warningly on Bellamy's arm. Bellamy ducked his head, and mumbled, “It's been almost thirty-six hours since we took it out.”  
  
“You stay here with her,” Kane ordered, his voice authoritative but kind. “Abby and I have to get the remaining wounded out of the city. Clarke's not injured, and Roan promised she'd be safe for now.”  
  
Nodding, Bellamy straighted his shoulders. “I won't let anyone in,” he promised, and Abby surprised him with a hug. Her arms felt like thin branches around his frame but her hair was soft and her intent was sincere.  
  
“Keep talking to her,” Abby said as she pulled away. “You two are connected, so who knows... she might respond to you after all.”  
  
Kane passed him a handheld radio. “Keep it on.”  
  
Soon enough they're gone, and Bellamy was left at Clarke's bedside, twisting a lock if her golden hair between his fingers. It was unnerving to see her sleep for so long without reactions. They'd tried words, noise, physical contact--they even tried an adrenaline shot. Nothing got a reaction from their brave, sleeping princess. Abby drew the line at tasing her since there was nothing wrong with Clarke's heart, and by all guesses she was dreaming, her eyes moving in REM sleep. That more than anything concerned Bellamy, because the exact thing Clarke had feared had come to pass: she won, but was stuck in a virtual world.  
  
For hours Bellamy stayed with Clarke, talking to her about things that had happened since ALIE was destroyed, then talking about himself. His fears for his sister, his pride in the competent guards that Harper, Miller, and Monty had turned out to be. As he spoke, he sometimes touched Clarke's hand. He squeezed her fingers in his larger ones, and imagined what it would be like to see her sleeping for real. He could see it in his mind: waking up to the gentle image of her face in repose, leaning down to kiss her lips and coax her to wakefulness.

God, if only it were so easy. To kiss the girl he loved and wake her from a cursed sleep.  
  
“What do you think, Princes?” he asked. It was late into darkness now and the candles in the room brought a glow to Clarke's skin. Bellamy ran his finger along her cheek. “Can you feel this? Would you feel it if I kissed you?”  
  
Clarke didn't stir at the words, and he was about to retract his hand when his finger brushed her bottom lip, and she inhaled.  
  
Bellamy jerked forward in his chair. “Clarke? Can you hear me? Can you wake up?”  
  
Nothing.  
  
At a loss, but with his heart pounding, Bellamy touched her lips again, cupping her cheek. Clarke's mouth fell open slightly at the contact, so that the tip of his thumb was partially inside. He chest began rising and falling more noticeably, but her eyes remained shut. Sitting now on the bedspread beside her, Bellamy looked on in dumbfounded fascination as her tongue grazed the pad of his thumb. Her body twitched.   
  
“Clarke?” he asked, delicately lifting his thumb from her lips. “Can you wake up?”  
  
She said nothing, she did nothing, but he could see her eyes moving behind her lids and her voice from two days ago rang through his ears: _Wake me up, Bellamy. Any way you can_.  
  
 _Any way you can._  
  
Feeling guilt coil into a sick knot with hope in his stomach, Bellamy leaned over Clarke and kissed her. Her lips were dry and soft, but her mouth opened for him, and he could swear he heard a noise from her. Joy filled him for a moment because she was kissing him back-- _she was kissing him back_ \---but then he pulled away for a breath and her motion stopped.   
  
“Clarke?” he begged. “Please wake up.”  
  
Her head lolled to one side, until her mouth fell against the palm of his hand, and her small tongue grazed his skin. Bellamy shivered above her, goosebumps racing down his body. Feeling a sharp spike of intuition he kissed her again, and again Clarke seemed to respond as long as his mouth was on hers, then to slip back into dream sleep when their lips parted.  
  
 _Any way you can._  
  
He was--fuck--he was not thinking about this. This was crazy.  
  
 _Any way you can._  
  
If he did more, if he kissed her longer, deeper, would she wake up? This was already greater response than she'd given in two days. Every day that she spent in the artificial dream world was a danger to her mind and body--everyone had been clear about that. He needed Clarke to wake up. He needed for her to be safe again.  
  
Frustrated almost to the point of tears, Bellamy let his head fall forward onto Clarke's. Their brows touched. “Tell me what do,” he begged. “If touching you is the only thing you'll respond to, should I do it? Will you hate me? Or is it worse to leave you a prisoner?”  
  
As he whispered the words, his cheek pressed against Clarke's, and his body half lay above her own. Tentatively, his let his lips graze the shell of her ear. “Clarke, please...”  
  
Like a marionette to his voice, Clarke's body arched a little underneath him. Her hands were still at her side but her breathing picked up and her heart was beating so loud Bellamy could feel it through her clothes, against his own chest.  
  
“Okay baby,” Bellamy whispered then, a tremor in his voice. “I've got you.”  
  
Carefully, he ran one hand down her side, pushing away the bed covers. Clarke's body seemed to respond to him the way any woman's might, except that her eyes remained shut and her legs didn't move. Her chest rose, however, and her fingers twitched.  
  
 _Any way you can._  
  
“I've got you, Clarke,” Bellamy promised, and he climbed onto the ancient bed, pushing the blankets out of the way and spanning his hands over Clarke's hips. They were wide and beautiful and his hands looked so good on them. A slight keening noise came from Bellamy's throat, and he fell forward to kiss her stomach. He pulled her shirt back and nuzzled her abdomen, whispering sweet words into her pale skin.  
  
He felt Clarke's hips lift up beneath his weight, as if seeking to be closer to his ministrations. Her head was still tilted back and her hair spilled over the pillows, her loose shirt spreading from the white and wounded expanse of her chest like a gown. Bellamy pressed his lips to her small belly, ran his hands up her and down her sides, and Clarke's whole body lifted in response.

He almost touched her breasts, round and heavy above him, but that seemed crude, as if it would break the spell building between them. Instead Bellamy situated himself more comfortably between her legs, nibbling a path over the line of her pants. Carefully, he unbuttoned them fastens one at a time, then hooked his fingers over the fabric. “Lift up for me now Clarke, come on,” he said in a breath kiss's over her belly button, and Clarke's hips rose. He slipped her pants and underwear off at the same time, pushing them away as he settled Clarke's legs on his shoulders.   
  
She was spread out before him now like a beautiful dish, and already glistening wet, and when he blew gently on her opening her legs shivered on his shoulders, and a sleepy noise escaped her throat.  
  
 _Any way you can._  
  
Maybe he had this all wrong, maybe he would go to hell, maybe she would wake up and cut his throat for this, but Clarke had begged him to wake her up and way he could. And here they were, when the only thing she had responded to in days was Bellamy's mouth on her skin, his hands on her body. In this moment it was hard to separate his desires from his duty. He wanted this--fuck he wanted this so much. And maybe if he did it right, if he made it good, she would wake up.  
  
“You're so beautiful,” he whispered as he leaned forward, drawing his tongue down her slit. Clarke's knees fell open on his shoulders like a blooming flower, and he could see her groin muscles instinctively clench. A breathy sigh came from the top of the bed, so Bellamy pressed his mouth against her, latching onto her clit and suckling it. Like hitting a live wire her body reacted, thrusting up from the bed toward him, and Bellamy left her clit to thrust his tongue into her cunt, licking and fucking. His hands came up, on to grip her thigh open and one to hold flat over her stomach.  
  
More sounds started coming from the top of the bed, and excitement shivered through Bellamy. Unable to stop himself, he pushed his own hips into the mattress and ground down, desperate for friction as he explored Clarke’s delicious cunt. He traded long licks with short ones, sensing from the reactions of her body which touch got the strongest response. He nuzzled her mound and then pushed against it, licking the top of her cunt from the inside until she was shuddering above him, close to the edge. He put one hand over her clit and rubbed it steadily, timing the contact with the thrusts of his tongue fucking. When he does up all of a sudden Clarke's body reacted, and a moan ripped from her throat as she arched against his mouth. He kept licking her kept rubbing her clit, until he felt the slick of her come flood his mouth. She was hot and pink and beautiful, her hips pressing against him as she rode the down waves of the orgasm.  
  
“Clarke,” he asked, “Are you awake baby? Can you hear me?”   
  
She didn't reply, but her breath was ragged and her whole looked flushed. He shoulders were moving a little too, and her fingers seemed like they might have been gripping the bedspread moments before. This was worlds away from the comatose silence of before. It was like she was almost here with him--she was so close, he just needed to coax her back.  
  
“Okay Princess, you're almost there,” Bellamy told her, his voice rough with sex and arousal. He reached down and fumbled with his own buttons, freeing his cock and tugging on it a few times as he began nosing Clarke's wet heat once again. She smelled heavenly now, like sweat and fucking and raw woman. He thrust roughly into his hand as he applied himself once more to her labia, licking her slit clean like a cat. His other hand pulled her pussy lips apart and he returned to the application of mouth and tongue that had brought her to the edge. This time, however, he held back when she seemed to be close. He didn't just want to get Clarke off in her sleep--he wanted to make her so desperate to come that she woke up and begged for the release.

Beneath him, Clarke twitched and moaned, her responses so close now to real sex. Bellamy half expected her to start talking, to give him commands on how to better please her, she sounded that close. He gave up on jerking himself off and pushed a finger inside her, curling it up to stroke the walls of her cunt. On the bed Clarke's voice broke out in a half scream, half groan, and the sound made Bellamy grind on the mattress, fucking his cock against whatever he could as he absorbed the sounds she made, the way she tasted below him, and the beautiful slope of her body. He pushed two more fingers inside her, til three of them fucked into her like a cock might---like his cock might---and the tight way she clenched down on his hand was un-fucking-believable. He sucked her clit again, rough and fast.  
  
Clarke's hips were rising as she tried to fuck up into his fingers, into his face, and he pushed faster, deeper. “Come on Clarke, wake up,” he said to her. “Wake up princess.”  
  
She moaned again, it spiralling into a kid of mewling sound, and he was sure she could hear him.   
  
“Wake up Clarke,” he commanded, a bit of authority sneaking into his voice alongside the desperation. “Don't you like this? Aren't I treating you right? My fingers are right here, for you baby. My mouth is right here, for you.”  
  
Every word was punctuated with a lick, a stroke, a suckle. Her body was bucking beneath him, and he played her cunt like it was his instrument. He brought her so close, so high. “You feel this, princess? What I'm doing to your sweet cunt? I could lick you all night if that's what you need. I'll let you ride my fingers until you scream. Just wake up honey. Wake up and fuck my face properly. Come on.”  
  
Her hands grabbed the bed spread, and her head was thrown back, and a shuddering squeal-moan filled the room almost like words. This was it. He almost had her. She was so close.  
  
 _Any way you can_.  
  
With a quick turn of his fingers Bellamy cupped her cunt in his hand, pushing his fingers up inside her whole dragging the rough of his palm across her mons. His rubbed her clit furiously and just as he leaned up on the bed and kissed her. Clarke's eager tongue filled his mouth, thrusting into him the way his thick fingers thrust into her throbbing cunt. When her orgasm came she broke from the kiss and screamed, her eyes popping open as on of her hands caressed her breasts and the other found his at the juncture of her legs.   
  
Her wide frazzled eyes met his as her hand pushed down on him; together they rode out her moment of climax. Bellamy thrust against the bed and came on the sheets, his eyes meeting the brilliant blue of Clarke's blissed out stare. Panting, they wound down together until it was just his fingers still moving: lazily pumping in and out of her cunt as they lay there together. It was shallow, gentle. She didn't tell him to stop, and he didn't want to.  
  
“In my dream,” she said at last, blinking up at him owlishly, “It was your cock, not your fingers.”  
  
“Clarke,” he replied, voice wrecked.   
  
“We were together, finally,” she continued, “But as soon as it got good you'd be ripped out of my arms and I'd be alone. Everyone was dead. Then it happened again, and again. I couldn't tell what was real.”  
  
“Oh god, Clarke,” he moaned, and dropped his head down to her neck. He kissed the skin there, worshipped it. “That's not going to happen. I'm not going anywhere.”  
  
To emphasize this Bellamy pushed his fingers deeper in again, and she let loose a pleasant moan. He mouthed her neck, her shoulder, and asked, “Do you want my cock, Clarke? Cause I'm real, princess. I swear it. And I'll fuck you any time you want. You can have my cock. It's yours, Clarke. You can have whatever you want.”  
  
“Mmm, not tonight,” she replied, turning on her side and hooking one leg over him. “Just one more like this, with your hands. Slow and nice.”  
  
“Slow and nice,” he repeated, kissing her as his fingers thrust slickly into her cunt. Clarke sighed into the kiss, and Bellamy smiled in overwhelmed relief. “It’s yours.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


End file.
